"Thank you": Grace and Gratitude in the Every Day

For
many of us, it is an autonomic response. Like breathing, or blinking, or crying
during re-runs of Little House on the Prairie.

"Thank you" is a
reflex action--a phrase we spurt out at the end of a conversation, mostly to
signal its end.

I
thank people for calling, for writing, for bagging my groceries, for stopping me
on the street to pet my dog. If you are like me, you catch yourself uttering the
phrase at least a dozen times each day, but have you ever really stopped to
think about what it means?

In
Mexico, it is "Gracias, Amigo." During a recent month-long trip to Mazatlan,
that autonomic response thing of mine was going strong. In fact, "Gracias,
Amigo" is the single Spanish phrase I mastered during my month-long visit.
This was more because of my limited bilingual abilities than because I really
meant to thank anyone. But, when you discover what the phrase really means,
"thank you" becomes a wonderfully appropriate response when you find
yourself speechless.

During
that spring month of sunsets and sailboats, I would say "Gracias, Amigo" to
the green parrots who peered from the resort's lush greenery and mimicked
whatever I said; "Gracias, Amiga" to the round-faced girl who dodged
heavy-footed tourists to sell me spearmint chewing gum; and "Gracias, Amigo"
to the Pulmonia driver, though he careened around strolling pedestrians and
through clogged intersections at a breakneck, maniacal speed, finally forcing me
to nearly choke on that chewing gum.

I soon learned that a "Gracias, Amigo" and a genuine
smile can get you anything--or get you help with anything--in this foreign land.
It became my favorite expression, mostly because the origin, the true meaning of
the "thank you," is more obvious in its Spanish translation.

Gracias.
It's all about grace. It means: I don't deserve this, but you did it for me
anyway. I don't deserve your help finding my way around in a foreign country,
but you helped me anyway. I don't deserve the time you spend bagging my
groceries--I've done nothing for you--but you bagged my groceries
anyway.

And
the "Amigo" part is important, too. I smile on a culture in which everyone
from uniformed schoolgirls to straw hat vendors calls you (who is, of course,
really a stranger rattling about in their country) a friend. This is their
autonomic response, it seems. I couldn't always tell what they were asking me,
but I always picked up the "Amiga" at the end. What a terrific etymological
partner for "Gracias." After all, sometimes we don't deserve our friends,
but a good many of them stick around anyway.

My
husband and I say "thank you" a lot, and I don't ever want to let that go.
Because "thank you" means I don't deserve you, but you're here anyway. I
don't deserve your willingness to deal with my smelly socks, my chocolate
cravings, or my coffee pot paranoia (did I unplug that thing or not?) but
you're willing to deal with them anyway.

The
urge to say gracias...thank you...is a natural outgrowth of what that syrupy
sentimental part of me calls true love. The kind of love in which each partner
encourages the other to do and to be everything they want to do and to be.

This
kind of love has nothing to do with levying expectations for this partner to do
something they wouldn't choose to do on their own. It is reserved for the
mature, the wise, and the secure because it involves no demands, no obligations,
no expectations, no ultimatums.

Naturally,
this is not a new concept. More than one psychotherapist has molded a
multi-million dollar deal out of the idea. Best-selling books, such as Scott
Peck's A Road Less
Traveled, and
Wayne Dyer's Your Erroneous
Zones, are
just a couple of examples. Not to mention that old book called The
Bible, probably responsible for starting it all.

So,
the idea is not new, but it wields enormous power. Try it and see. Say thank you
to someone. Not because they took out the garbage or cleaned the litter box or
fixed your carburetor. But because they didn't have to.